


Babies, Sloths, and Twitches

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Finarfin's birth, Fingolfin brings Anairë to meet his family. Fingolfin is confused by the reaction Finarfin gets, Fëanor insists on lecturing Fingolfin, and Celegorm disapproves of the new addition to the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babies, Sloths, and Twitches

“Awwwwwwwwwww.”

Fingolfin jumped, looking at where his mother, sister-in-law, and fiancé were all gathered around his new baby brother. As far as he could tell, the baby hadn’t done anything particularly amusing or cute, in fact Finarfin seemed to just be staring out the window.

“Isn’t he so cute? He sees Maedhros and Maglor out there, doesn’t he?” Nerdanel was cooing over him, while also bouncing Celegorm on her knee. “Do you like your new Uncle?”

“No! No! No!” as Celegorm continued to screech and express his feeling of utter disgust for his new uncle, Indis and Nerdanel burst into laughter, while Fingolfin could see Anairë begin to giggle. While he was glad she seemed to be getting along well with his family, he wished he could escape. Sadly, escape was not possible.

Finarfin sleepily rubbed his eyes, resulting in another round of cooing from the women, while Fingolfin twitched and tried to blend into the corner, and Celegorm settled for glaring at this thing that was taking attention away from him.

Finwë and Fëanor, leading his two oldest sons, appeared around the corner. Finwë swept to the center of the room, kissing Indis on the lips, before taking a spot on the couch next to her. “He looks just like you, dear.”

Maglor peered into the crib, before speaking loudly and resolutely, “He looks like a baby sloth.”

“Maglor!” Maedhros hissed from behind him, blushing brightly.

“Oh, it’s alright Maitimo, he hasn’t done any harm,” Indis said brightly, smiling down at Maglor.

Fingolfin wanted to know why they had all lost their minds (except for Maglor, he had to admit that he was onto something) when he felt a hand grab his arm. He squeaked as he felt himself pulled out into the hallway. Then he squeaked again as he saw who had dragged him into the hallway.

"You think it’s disgusting, don’t you? The way they’re all cooing over our new…brother.” From the way Fëanor had said this, Fingolfin had the feeling that he was barely resisting the urge to have a fit about how they were not his brothers. “I’m going to give you a little advice. You and I don’t understand it, my sons don’t understand, and we probably never will understand why he seems so cute to all of them. However, if you want to actually get married – and not be chased down the street with a broom because you said he was ugly, which you, unlike my son, are too old to get away with – you will keep your mouth shut today and for any day until your wedding, and preferably after it. Secondly, when your children are born – stop making that look, you will have them one day – you will either think they are cute, or because your small mind doesn’t understand that this is your son, and not some type of prune, you won’t. Either way, you will nod to your wife and talk about how cute he or she is. Lastly, we are going to go back in there, you are going to stop hiding in that corner, and you are going to compliment him. Because you are going to make Father happy. Do you understand me?”

Fingolfin frantically nodded his head. Looking him up and down, Fëanor was apparently not assured that he wouldn’t just run off and hide in a closet, because he grabbed Fingolfin’s arm once again and yanked him back into the room. Apparently, their absence had been noted, because when they entered Finwë looked at them. “Welcome back, boys! I was just telling Anairë about when you were a baby, Nolo.”

Fingolfin felt his face go bright red, and for once he was glad when everyone’s attention was distracted once more by Finarfin. Apparently, the way he yawned was the cutest thing ever. Fëanor carefully made his way over to where Nerdanel was sitting, slipped in next to her, and grabbed Maglor from the floor. “He seems somewhat smaller than either my sons or Fingolfin were, Atar, where did you find the clothes to fit him? He has his mother’s hair of course.”

Apparently, this had been the right thing for Fëanor to say – and Fingolfin, at this moment, would gladly take any pointers what so ever about what he should say – as Finwë beamed at his oldest son. “He is smaller than any of you were at your births, though he could grow up and end up taller than you all, of course. We did have some difficulties that first day, as we had the clothes made with the idea that he would be similar in size.” Reaching over, he grabbed Finarfin and cuddled him. “And he does have the same brilliant shade of gold as Indis does – quite unusual in our family.”

“Indeed. Celegorm’s hair is quite different in color, though still blonde.” Fëanor leaned back into the sofa.

“My hair gooder!” Celegorm was not amused.

“My hair is better. And it’s not polite to say such things,” Fëanor grinned at his son as he said this.

“Not your hair – my hair!” and then Fëanor burst into laughter.

“Very well, son, as long as we’re clear on whose hair we’re talking about.”

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Fëanor,” Nerdanel lightly swatted him on the arm.

“Yes, dear,” he said, as Nerdanel rolled her eyes, before turning back to Indis.

“Is he sleeping normally then?” she asked.

“Better than normal,” she laughed. “He’s much calmer than any of his older siblings were. Why, when Nolo was a baby, I never got to sleep. He was always awake and crying.”

Finwë chimed in at this, “Fëanor was much the same way. Between you two and your sisters, I thought I was cursed to never have a peaceful child.”

Fingolfin spoke up at this, eager to get discussion off any possible similarities between Fëanor and him. “So…are most babies louder than this?”

“In this family, yes,” Finwë chuckled.

While he knew that disobeying Fëanor’s instructions would probably lead to pain later, he had never been so tempted to flee from the room. Actually, he was tempted to flee from the entire area, when Anairë spoke up. “May I hold him?”

“Of course!” Finwë handed her Finarfin. “Just speak up if you want something, dear.”

And perhaps Fëanor had been right for once. Staring at Anairë as she held his brother, he could suddenly imagine how his own children would look cute – though, as everyone started cooing over Finarfin as he once again rubbed his eyes, he still didn’t see how this particular baby was cute.


End file.
